Numbed,
as wooden as a puppet,
she yearns for something to make sense.

Teardrops gathering
on her lower eyelid,
waiting to fall.

The disappointment,
burns her eyes, her brain.
Hot blood rages through her veins,
she wants to thump her fists
against his chest,
his face.

Pained memories,
like rough charcoal- sketches
in her soul,

wrongly remembered.

© Amy Barry

Woman raped by father 'devastated' at sentencing

Fiona Doyle says she feels 'vindicated' after rapist father jailed

Amy Barry writes poems and short stories. She has worked in the media industry as a Public Relations officer. Her poems have been published in anthologies, journals, and e-zines, in Ireland and abroad. Trips to India, Nepal, China, Bali, Paris, Berlin, have all inspired her work. She lives in Athlone, Ireland.

they don't even stop for the two minutes silence
cenotaph day - never mind respect the dead
or the sacrifice

as I walked in to administer meds last night
the man who sat on Ellena's bed wearing striped pyjamas

ashen faced
translucent
simply looked me in the eye and faded away
shrugging his shoulders

© Philip Johnson

Eleanor Margolis on her mixed feelings about Holocaust Memorial Day

Philip's words have appeared in: The Ugly Tree; Poetry Scotland, Emergency Verse, Write Away, Caught In The Net, Red Pencil, Writer's Hood, Transparent Words. He works in elder care.

The scales of justice
Tipped in favour
Of depravity
Again.

Evil spat in the face of courage
And walked free.

If heaven holds a place
For those who pray
What does hell reserve
For those who don’t?

© Maeve Heneghan

Self-confessed rapist father walks free

Maeve Heneghan is a native of County Dublin.  She has been writing poetry and short stories for a number of years now and has had some of her work published with First Cut, Verse land,  Static Poetry and Every Day Poets.

Hello, the week seems to have ended with a lot of snow, I hope it's not affected our readers too much. This week we began with The Season Ends by Amy Barry. It was a very sad and moving poem and quite powerful about a fifteen year old girl who had committed suicide after being tormented in school over sex rumours. It was a complicated story of sadness and cruelty and I'm reminded of the final, short stanza: 'Her body / found hanging / from the maple tree, / in winter.'

Suicide was a recurring theme as another story popped up, this time in the military as combat lessens. Show Me Something I've Seen Before by David Mellor was published on Tuesday. It shows us a kind of torment with being in the military and not fighting, which seems to create a psychological torment and shows someone to wishing to see their normal life, 'Something I've seen before, me and Steve growing up in the candy store.'

Fellow Poetry24 editor, Abigail Wyatt was published on Wednesday with Proper Love. It's a thought-provoking poem about the 56 year old British woman who was sentenced to death in Bali for cocaine smuggling. The poem questions the way we judge and the decisions we make. The ideas of right and wrong and crime and punishment.

Royal Pardon on Thursday, written by Philip Challinor, was a satirical approach to the tabloid stories about Prince Harry. It references the naive and immature actions Prince Harry did in the past and the negative press he gained from it, but then the change in opinion about him, to forgive him, when he joined the army, 'Go to Asia and blow up sufficient wogs.' I suppose this wasn't about Harry and what he's done in his life, but about the silly, fickle tabloid journalists who really only write about their own agendas.

Clare Kirwan returned to Poetry24 on Friday when we published The Moses of Elephants. This was about the baby elephant that died in the BBC show Africa and David Attenborough defended it, saying it was a natural tragedy. The poem is filled with religious imagery and almost sanctifies the elephant in question, showing that the elephant's death was indeed natural and, in a sense, beautiful, and there was never any need to complain about it.

Finally, we published Prisoner at Home by Katie Beviss to end the week. The news story was about Palestinians who threatened to sue Israel over settlements. The poem is very powerful and interesting from the first line: 'The man at no.3 has been taken prisoner.' I particularly liked the use of Hebrew '"מתים המהלכים"' to read 'The Walking Dead.'

Remember to keep submitting to us at poetry24@hotmail.com and tell your friends about us. You can like us on Facebook on our Poetry24 page.

Hope you've all had a good week and have better one to follow.

Michael.

The man at no.3 has been taken prisoner.
I can see it now when I look into his eyes
that there is no coming out of his coma,
when I place my hand against his it passes through him like a ghost.
The Politian shouts that he is “מתים המהלכים" (The Walking Dead)
but he doesn’t hear that his house is marked X.

He surrounds himself with heirlooms
passed down through the hands of spirit family members
who visit now and then when the door is left ajar;
but make no sound for fear of distressing his heart.
In his eyes I see anguish and I see so much joy.
In his eyes I see pain and I see a lifetime of love and faith.
In his eyes I see proudness for a beautiful daughter and son and I see fear for these same peoples' lives.

When I visit again,
his body may be translucent and white as snow.
His organs as bright as flowers sprouting in his blood,
but he will teach me how to see with immortal eyes.
Sleep like I’m feigning death but awake, so awake
to watch the beauty of his world burn away in war.

© Katie Beviss

Palestinians threaten to sue Israel over settlements

Katie Beviss grew up in England. As a child she found a way to express herself through writing. She has been writing poetry since she was eleven and wouldn’t know how to stop.

with much trumpeting, called together families
of pachyderms: We’re going on a journey.
Beyond the burning bush and luscious forest,
the memory of trees, the bones of loved ones
is another place and I will lead you.

Now we live on salt and thorn, the taste
of sorrow, the promised land a mirage, metaphor.
Awaking to another blasted dawn; the first born
dead, a plague of promises. We will be
carrion, old elephants whisper like law.

Thirsty and yearning for an end to adventure,
there’s nothing in this wilderness but suffering.
Sunbright bones identify our path;
we aim for Eden, with our ears for sails,
across a sea of sand, scratching for sustenance.

From hidden ducts behind our eyes, elephants weeping,
a slow procession, lacking even music. This silence,
the buckling of knees, our young ones cargoes
lost upon the way, all bones and sagging grey:
such sadness can never be forgotten.

The Moses of elephants found an idea of God
and followed without knowing. Faith! He said,
which made it sound important, solid, real.
I believe and you are coming with me.
Parts the sea of doubt with broken tusk.

©  Clare Kirwan

Producer defends a natural tragedy

Clare Kirwan is a Merseyside poet and short fiction writer and hopes to bring out her  first collection this year. By day she works in a library - like Batgirl. http://brokenbiro.blogspot.co.uk/ Twitter: @ClareKirwan

Show me something I’ve never seen before
Away from the one bar and candy store
Show me something I wish I’d never seen before

It’s friendly for a while , with no foe, we can play cards for a while
Til I see their limbs go
Away from this Taliban strong hold back in bits to this one bar and candy store

Show me something at night , now I can’t pull the trigger
Show me something at night , that’s not Steve falling like a pack of cards
Show me something that’s not my leg and soul in bits

Show me something I’ve seen before, me and Steve growing up in the candy store passing our days in the one bar
Forever and a day away from this

copyright@David R Mellor, 2013

Suicide in military rise even as combat lessens

David was born in Liverpool in 1964. He left school with nothing, rummaged around various dead end jobs, then back to college and uni. In his 20s he first discovered poetry, starting writing and performing and has done so ever since. I has lived on the Wirral for the past 8 years.